


Lessons Learned

by Annber03



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 10x13-10x14, Angst, Drama, Gen, Nelson's Sparrow-Hero Worship, spoilers within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 13:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7389190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annber03/pseuds/Annber03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every pain is a lesson." ― Frank Delaney. The team must be reminded of this fact once again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons Learned

**Author's Note:**

> *Originally posted in March 2015 at Fanfiction.net*

Kate feels hopelessly lost. As the newest member of the team, she doesn't know where to begin.

They've all just lost a good colleague and friend. She's certainly _heard_ of Gideon, but she never got to know him the way the others did. She feels the natural sadness that comes when anyone dies, of course, but that's all the farther she can go, and that frustrates her.

Which is why she chooses to hang back and quietly observe the scene before her.

JJ and Garcia are huddled off in the living room of the cabin. Garcia's on her computer, JJ's on the couch. An empty ice cream container sits next to them. Those two are clearly thick as thieves, they're communicating without even talking. She's had friendships like that – there's a friend from her school days she still keeps in touch with.

She plans to call that friend when this case is over.

Hotch is in complete control. It's obvious this isn't his first time dealing with this kind of situation. Kate's heard a little here and there about some of the other dramatic incidents in the team's lives – there was a big hullabaloo with Emily Prentiss and an international terrorist named Ian Doyle some years back, and there was that unsub from a couple years ago who'd stalked the team, culminating in the loss of Erin Strauss. Unlike many FBI agents, Kate had always admired Erin and her tough, no-nonsense nature, and had been deeply saddened by her death.

Now her boss is taking charge on the latest case that's knocked everyone for a personal loop, keeping a tight ship. She's fairly certain he's not going to actually sleep until the case is solved, and her admiration for him grows by leaps and bounds.

Rossi's just as focused and determined. Kate _adores_ Rossi. He's snarky. She likes snarky.

But now she's seeing a whole new side of him. Rossi's _pissed_. Deeply so. Someone took one of his friends away, and right after he'd _just_ finished burying another one not even a couple weeks prior.

She appreciates righteous anger, too. She used that a lot in her last job, and it's served her well here, too. _We'll get him. Whoever he is, we'll get him._

Morgan's steady, calm. Where Hotch's control is due to his need to keep order, Morgan's control is due to his need to be the rock for his friends. Everyone else is puffy-eyed and emotional, and Morgan's their shoulder to cry on, the person to tell them to focus and keep going. He'll crack later, too, privately, Kate knows that. But for now he's content to hold everyone else up.

And Reid. Kate can barely look at Reid, because the devastation written on his face physically _hurts_. She knows that look all too well – it was the expression she wore after her sister's death, the one Meg had the day she finally found out what happened to her parents.

She's heard about Gideon being Reid's mentor, and the main reason he wound up in the BAU. Reid's admiration and reverence for the man comes through loud and clear as he speaks about him.

Everyone's respect for Gideon is apparent as they all work to finish what he'd started, both with this case and with this unit. It's inspiring and moving.

Soon, Kate gets an assignment, and immediately snaps back into work mode. She may not know what to say or do for her friends personally, but helping to get justice for their fallen friend is certainly a good start.

* * *

Elle gets _that_ call. The kind that comes at two in the morning, never implying good news. She flips on the light, her blood running cold as she sees the caller ID.

Hotch.

_Shit._

He used to call her every so often after she left the BAU, to see how she was doing. But then time passed, they both grew busy, and the calls lessened, eventually stopping altogether. The last time she _had_ talked to him was…after Haley's death, she now remembers. And _she'd_ called _him_ that time, to send her condolences. She may not have been in the FBI anymore by then, but she still had a couple contacts, and she'd heard through the grapevine what had happened.

Hotch certainly wouldn't call her at _this_ time of night, though; he never has. Not unless it's for a serious reason. Her hands grow sweaty and shaky as she brings the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she asks nervously, running her fingers over her forehead.

"Elle?" She smiles ruefully at the hint of hope in Hotch's voice. _Please tell me this is the right number, tell me at least one thing hasn't changed in eight years._

"Yeah, I'm here, Hotch. What's going on?" Despite her body being on immediate alert, her sleepiness gone, she rubs her eyes anyway.

There's a pause, and Elle places a hand on her stomach. It's doing weird things that she doesn't like right now.

"I don't know how to say this, other than to just say it," she hears him begin slowly. A deep breath, and then, "Gideon's dead."

Elle bolts upright in her bed at the words, flinging her blankets aside. She's fairly certain she's misheard him.

"… _what_?" Her voice echoes in her semi-dark room.

"He's gone, Elle. He…he was murdered." Only Hotch can manage to sound both gentle and angry at the same time. "I just thought you should know."

She sits with her mouth hung open, completely still. That can't be right. Jason Gideon doesn't _die_. He sure as hell doesn't get _murdered_.

To her surprise, a flicker of that old fire begins burning in her belly. The one she used to have ten years ago, when she was fighting for a spot on the team, the one she'd thought had died after she'd left. She suddenly desperately wants to drive to the nearest airport and fly down to where her former teammates are. She'll _drive_ , walk, hitchhike, she doesn't care. She just wants to _be there_ , to help somehow.

But she can't. She doesn't. She's moved on, and is quite happy with the therapy work she's doing now.

Still, her feet are tingling, pleading with her anyway.

"Elle? Are you there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm, I'm still here." She exhales slowly, rubbing her free hand on her leg. "When did this happen?"

"A couple days ago. It happened at his cabin." Elle cringes. "And yes, we got the guy who did it," he adds, anticipating her next question. He declines to tell her _how_ they got him, though – she doesn't know Rossi, and for reasons he can't quite explain, Hotch feels uncomfortable discussing what his friend had to do to stop their unsub right now.

Elle nods. That news brings a twinge of comfort. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Just come to the funeral, if you can?" _If you want to._ "I'll let you know when it's taking place."

"I can do that. Thanks, Hotch." Her voice trails off as she looks down at her lap. "Tell the others I'm sorry?"

She can sense him nodding on the other end. "I will. I'm sorry, too, Elle. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, Hotch," she says softly, hearing the beep shortly after. She sets the phone back on her table, and places her head in her hands. _Damn._

Of all places, it _had_ to be in his beloved cabin. He'd been so upset the last time someone visited his cabin, sending him the grotesque "gift" of a man's severed head as part of an unsub's sick game. A game in which she'd nearly paid the ultimate price, after Garner had surprised her in her home, too.

What was it she'd told Hotch shortly before quitting?

_"_ _I was alone, in the one place I was supposed to stay safe – my home."_

She had survived her ordeal, though. And Gideon had stayed vigil for her at the hospital. His was the first face she saw upon opening her eyes, after parting with the image of her father in her dreams. And he'd stayed the remainder of that night as well, talking gently to her.

Now someone had invaded his home, again, and he didn't survive. No waiting at a hospital for him, nobody to hold his hand. He never said goodbye to anyone, or told them he loved them one more time.

Elle breathes in and out, slowly, quietly, absorbing these thoughts, before she can feel her breathing speed up. The tears start burning in her eyes. The first one trickles down her cheek, and more follow soon after. She bows her head.

_Goodbye, Dad._

* * *

Emily gets a late night call, too, and literally nearly falls out of her chair at the news. She's been up late, doing paperwork, mentally sending sympathetic boss-related thoughts across the Atlantic.

Then she hears about Gideon, and just like that, her priorities have dramatically shifted.

"How is everyone?" she immediately asks after regaining her voice.

_How the hell do you think they are?_

"Not well," Hotch answers honestly. Emily can hear the deep weariness in his voice, and sags in response.

"I just can't believe this," she says, placing her head in her hand. "When's the funeral?"

"Haven't confirmed that yet."

"I'll be there. Let me know when it is, and I'm there." _I need to see them._

They talk a bit longer, Hotch giving her a brief overview of the case they'd wrapped up. Emily follows along, swelling with pride at how her former teammates closed Gideon's case. _I would've expected nothing less._

"Take care of them, Hotch," she says, just before the call ends. She knows he will, of course, but that's her way of not feeling so helpless at the moment.

"I will. You take care, too." They say their goodbyes, Hotch assuring her he'll call back, and afterward Emily drops her head on the table, her hands running through her hair.

It's times like these she regrets moving an ocean away. Right now she wants nothing more than to be an added presence for JJ and Garcia – if ever there was a need for the Three Musketeers, as Garcia called the three of them, it's now. She longs to help Hotch and Rossi, and calm Morgan. She wants to talk to Reid.

And, morbid as it sounds, she needs to see Gideon. She knows her team wouldn't be pranking her with this news, of course, wouldn't make up such ghoulish claims. But death is something that, for her, needs to be seen to be accepted and dealt with. _Gideon would've demanded proof for me._

There were many moments, actually, involving the team, that left Emily wondering as to what Gideon's reaction would've been. Hotch's divorce, or Haley's death. Gideon would've been a big help in those moments. He would've praised Morgan's brief tenure as Unit Chief. Rossi had worked with Gideon for years – watching them together would've been a master class.

He would've _adored_ Henry. Emily smiles wistfully at the image of Gideon turning all soft around the boy, holding him, delighting in a baby's hand wrapping around one of his fingers. He'd have encouraged Ashley, or given good advice to Jordan after the Hill case, the way he did with Reid when things got too personal for him.

 _Reid._ Emily's heart aches at the thought of her dear friend. He was the main reason she wished Gideon never left. His leaving had proven to be a nasty adjustment for Reid to deal with, especially given the similarities to the way his own father had left.

But Reid being the resilient person he is, he got up, dusted himself off, and kept fighting, improving, growing, as a team member and a person. Even his darkest moments haven't knocked him down for good – he'd have his doubts, deal with them, and move on. He's learned from Gideon's struggles, and figured out his own way of avoiding that same fate.

_If only you knew what you missed, Gideon. You'd be so proud._

And then there's Emily herself. She's not a woman who's easily intimidated, but Gideon was a notable exception in that regard. She'd been _so_ _nervous_ around him when she first started. The few times she contradicted him, he either dismissed her or gave her a look that shut her up fairly quickly. At the time she'd seen him as eccentric at best, a rude jerk at worst.

After the case where she'd joined him and Reid at Guantanamo, however, there'd been a noticeable shift in their interactions. Gideon rarely ever invited anyone else to play chess, so when he extended the offer to her, she knew she'd been accepted. His seeming dismissiveness was actually a challenge. _You know what you're talking about? Prove it._

They got to know each other personally, too. Emily fondly remembers the many lovely conversations they shared. She'd tell him about her world travels, he regaled her with stories of his cross-country trips. They discussed art, literature, and occasionally work, and the intense devotion that came with it. Emily may not have divulged _everything_ from her pre-BAU days, but she suspected he had some idea of what she'd been through anyway, and gave advice in his own unusual manner.

She'd come to treasure those chats, and had greatly missed them after he left. But by opening up to him, it helped her feel more comfortable opening up to the others in turn. And she'd been forever grateful for that opportunity, and the lifelong friendships forged from it.

Her work forgotten, Emily begins hunting online for airline tickets for the next few days. Gideon's funeral may not have been announced yet, but Emily's always been one to be prepared. Especially where her friends are considered.

* * *

_"_ _Hey, God? Next time I go to a funeral, make it mine. Got it?"_

He doesn't really care right now that he might've just jinxed himself. Rossi shoots daggers towards the sky anyway, tuning out the minister's sermon. He doesn't need to listen to the man's words – he's been to so many funerals by this point he could recite the usual sermons and comforting phrases himself, word for word. And he doesn't even have an eidetic memory.

A drop of rain hits him square in the eye. Rossi brushes the raindrop away and gives one last angry look at the gray sky. He'd gladly continue his personal mini-rant, but the rest of the team might give him odd, worried looks, and he doesn't need that right now.

Instead, he glances around at all the umbrellas popped up everywhere, the groups of people huddled and shivering underneath them. Everyone's leaning into each other, hoping to grab whatever warmth they can find.

 _Of course_ it's raining and cold today. It would be. How very cliché. Almost like God's way of saying, "Hey, I'm not happy either, Dave, so shut it."

He can't let go of this intense anger, though, and Rossi's not sure why that is. He thought he'd gotten all his anger out after James, Carolyn, and Erin. He hasn't even _seen_ Gideon in recent years!

Maybe he's angry on the others' behalf. They're not used to mentors dying. Maybe he's just beyond sick of funerals, of seeing the team go through yet _another_ traumatic event.

Or maybe it's because _this isn't how Gideon was supposed to go out, damnit_. This isn't how his friend's dream should've ended. _They_ take down the killers, the killers don't take _them_ down.

He's always imagined Gideon's death being the result of some health issue – the man didn't always take the best care of himself physically, after all. His breathing could be labored at times, he worked himself to the bone _way_ too much, and let these cases weigh on his mind to the point he literally worried and stressed himself sick. Hell, he knows full well Gideon would never commit suicide, but he would've even accepted the possibility of _that_ option, too, on some level.

The funny thing, Rossi thinks, is that he _should_ be able to accept Gideon being killed. Unfortunately, murdered loved ones have become far too common amongst the BAU members over the years.

But that's just it. Their experience with loved ones dying of something that most people will never have to deal with only makes this _more_ upsetting. They can't keep their loved ones safe, they can't keep fellow colleagues safe, an unsub overpowers a man who's _trained_ to handle these situations. If all of that can happen, _has_ happened, then what the hell kind of good is their job? What's the point? Rossi hates having to even ask that, considering he and Gideon started this whole job, but right now, it's a valid question.

The sound of a bird cawing in the distance catches Rossi's ear then, distracting him momentarily. He allows himself a small smile. Gideon would've been able to identify that bird without even seeing it. He loved birds. He never understood why people would ever want to hunt them – he absolutely _hated_ hunting. Which Rossi's always thought ironic – Gideon hunted humans, after all.

Even then, though, he still insisted on talking down an unsub without having to shoot them. And if he did have to shoot, he always tried to go for injury instead of killing.

It'd always been one of the main points of debate between him and Rossi. Rossi loves a good hunt. He believes in the death penalty. He's a military man, used to charging into battle and killing the enemy. He taunted that creep who took Gideon away and took him out.

And yet, he felt no sense of closure afterward. He still doesn't. Nor does he relish killing the man, or feel an urge to gloat.

Instead, he feels…empty. Hollow. He can picture Gideon's sad, sympathetic eyes. _You shouldn't have had to go that far. Not for me._

It's his duty, as a team member and a friend. But as Rossi glances at the coffin up front, at this moment, that explanation doesn't feel like enough.

* * *

Hotch stares at Jack, amusement on his face. His son is sitting at the kitchen table, doing his math homework. His facial expression, however, is rather comical. His tongue is stuck out the side of his mouth ever so slightly, a look of intense concentration on his features.

_Almost reminds me of Gideon…_

The smile falls from his face then, and Hotch turns back to the sink. Just a couple weeks ago, he'd mentioned Gideon's name in passing in conversation, no problem. Now, merely _thinking_ about him is a punch to the gut.

He had to make eight phone calls after Gideon's death, six of them within minutes of each other, and it never got easier with each call. He'll never forget the looks of horror and sadness on the faces of his team as they all gathered. The fact that they held it together as well as they did while solving Gideon's case, though, was admirable and yet not surprising all at the same time. Even now, they'd do anything for Gideon, even now, they give their best to their job.

Gideon would've been proud. He _is_ proud. Hotch knows this for certain.

He turns back then, glancing at Jack. The boy's still toiling away at his schoolwork.

Haley had suggested the name Gideon for him back when she was pregnant. She and Hotch got into a playful debate about it. _If I'd known then what I know now, would I have listened to her?_ He remembers discussing the name dilemma with Gideon, particularly the difficulty in finding a name that didn't also remind him of notable killers. Gideon eventually reminded Hotch that no matter what name he picked, it would only be a good thing, because from that point on, whenever Hotch heard his son's name, he'd immediately think of him before anyone else, killer or not.

 _And he was right. As usual._ For all his prickliness and tendency to live in his own head a lot, Gideon did have a knack for finding the positive side of a situation every now and again. He always insisted on finding some way to let a little light and joy in, be it a relaxing trip or a good drive, or even the occasional Chaplin film.

_Chaplin._

Hotch quietly leaves the kitchen, going over to his closet and poking around a little until he finally finds what he's looking for. Slowly, he pulls out the old projector hidden in the back. He'd brought it years ago after Gideon had given him some of his collection of Chaplin films. Hotch only watched them once shortly afterward, then work and other personal issues took precedence. Eventually, the projector and the films were shoved aside, becoming nothing more than storage.

Now, Hotch thinks, it's time to remedy that. Another idea immediately comes to mind.

"Hey, Jack!" he calls, smiling at the echo of his son's eager footsteps as he enters.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Look what I just found. This neat old projector and some cool movies a friend gave me." He directs a hand towards the films before looking at his son. "How'd you like to watch a few of 'em with me?"

He can tell Jack's debating how he should answer. He wants so badly to say yes, Hotch knows, and yet…

"What about my homework?"

_Sounds just like his dad. He really should stop that._

"Eh, you've been working pretty hard. You deserve a break."

Jack considers this for a brief moment. "Okay," he says, brightening. He'll never turn down spending time with his dad. Besides, Jack knows he's been sad lately, kind of like how he was after his mom died, so he's up for anything that makes his dad stop being sad.

He happily settles onto the couch, waiting as Hotch grabs some popcorn and gets the projector ready, explaining all the while how it works. Finally, his dad sits down next to him, and the movie marathon starts. For the rest of the evening, the two of them go through all the films. Even after an explanation from Hotch about silent films, it's still weird, Jack thinks, to hear no sound at all, aside from the bouncy piano music throughout. But the main guy's doing some pretty funny things throughout, and he likes hearing his dad laugh, so he laughs, too.

As Hotch looks at the screen, he swears he can almost hear Gideon quietly laughing along with them.

* * *

Garcia's baking, and she's going all out. Cookies, cakes, bread, name it and it's on her list. Food is how she helps her friends feel better, and Lord knows they need some "feel better" remedies right now.

Cooking also keeps _her_ focused. If she's focused, her mind can't go to certain other things. Like bad cases, or disturbing images, or friends who've gone away…

As she sets some dough out on the counter, she catches a glimpse of the vase set against the wall, and tears prick at her eyes.

That vase has held many special flowers over the years. The ones she got after being shot. The ones Henry and Jack regularly pick for her. The ones Kevin, and now Sam, would bring for her on dates. It's also where, years ago, she'd kept the flowers she received from Gideon. He'd sent them after being stuck at the office with her as a result of his being on crutches, as an apology for his rather intrusive, tense behavior on that case.

She found out later, of course, that _he_ didn't specifically send her those flowers. Hotch had sent them under Gideon's name. But the fact that Gideon went along with that story was still sweet, in an odd way. He was practically her polar opposite in terms of openly affectionate gestures, but his care for others was always there.

He delivered soap and other necessities to homeless people. He couldn't stand hunting and killing animals, a fact which had endeared him to her immediately. She'd seen the letters he prepared and mailed out to victims, and the ones he received from them in turn. Always checking in to see how they were, while they wrote to thank him for his help. She knew about the photos in his office, and that book of all the people he'd saved, or tried to save, that motivated him. She'd think of that book and those letters during her own work with victims' families week in and week out, or while she kept tabs on their unsolved cases. It was inspiring.

He looked out for the team, too. Talked to them after tough cases, came to their defense when they were being scrutinized by others, waited at the hospital for them. She can still remember his steady, reassuring hand on her shoulder in a ramshackle house in rural Georgia as she watched some of the most terrifying video footage she'd ever had the misfortune to see.

It doesn't seem right or fair that such caring souls should be taken so violently. They deserve peaceful, quiet deaths, when they're very old and had lived full, happy lives. The only thing that gives Garcia some peace of mind at this moment is her belief that Gideon's been reunited with Sarah again. If good people don't get a rewarding end in this life, then she figures the afterlife makes up for that. She needs to believe that's true, for Gideon's sake and for the sake of her friends, as well as herself.

Garcia brushes her fingers over the vase briefly, and wipes at her eyes. Then she begins rolling out the dough.

* * *

She _really_ hates winter.

It's late, really late, and JJ's shivering. She's currently stretched out on her couch, buried up to her chin in a big, warm comforter, and absolutely does _not_ want to move. Henry's fast asleep in his room, and Will's in bed as well, catching up on some much needed sleep during a rare break from work. She's _finally_ got some alone time, and she wants to just rest here and take as much of it as she can get. She listens to the cold wind echoing outside, and pulls her blanket more tightly around her.

It's not just the cold that's bothering her, though.

What _is_ it about this time of year? Two years ago, Reid lost Maeve. Last year, she was kidnapped. And now she's coming up on the memory of her captivity (like hell she'll call it an "anniversary". The date celebrating her and Will's marriage is an anniversary. This isn't worthy of that word), and her PTSD is flaring up big time. Meanwhile, Rossi loses two good, longtime friends in quick succession, and now everyone has lost a noted, important colleague.

It's like some force is determined to make everyone's lives a living hell. No wonder they refer to this time of year as the _dead_ of winter. JJ's more than happy to just hide under this blanket and hibernate for the rest of the season, if not longer.

She really didn't need this thing with Gideon. Not with everything else going on. She can't get Askari's damned voice or taunts out of her mind. She's pushing herself too hard at her job, second guessing every decision and action as a mother. She's snapping at Henry more often, trying to avoid answering the questions he's asking (and he's getting to the age where she can't easily brush away all the tough topics anymore).

She's pulling away from Will, too. God bless the poor man, as he's ever patient and understanding and supportive and allowing her her space. She wants that space, and yet she doesn't. It's all very conflicting and confusing and uncertain and that bothers her greatly. JJ can't help wondering if she's on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the fact that she even asks that question has her absolutely _terrified_.

_How'd you do it, Gideon? After Bale, after your breakdown? How'd you handle it? Where did you go? Who did you talk to? Do you know a word for these feelings?_

Of course, he'll never answer, but she looks out the window at the sky anyway. She'd never get an answer from him even if he were alive, though. He distanced himself years ago, and left a letter for only one person in the group. Apparently he assumed the rest of them would handle him leaving better, she supposes, or something.

_He was wrong. He was so, so wrong._

* * *

Morgan's sitting on the edge of his bed, taking in the events of the last few days. Since the funeral, he's started to accept the fact that Gideon is gone. But there's still a curious feeling lingering in him, one he can't quite explain.

The odd feeling had started at the funeral, actually. When speaking of his father, Stephen had talked about how he had been fortunate to reconnect with Gideon in the last few years. He talked about his father beaming as he took stock of Stephen's life, and all he'd accomplished with it. He'd traveled the world a bit, had a nice job that made him happy, and had a fulfilling personal life – no marriage or children, but plenty of friends that became an extended family of sorts.

Stephen had choked up when he talked about how, despite his years-long distance from his dad, Gideon had still inspired him to follow his dreams. And he felt incredibly lucky that one of his last conversations with his dad, which had taken place up at his cabin, involved Gideon finally expressing how proud he was of his son, and how happy it made him to see Stephen's life going so well. They'd repaired their father-son bond, acknowledged their past mistakes and apologized for the distance, and were able to say they loved each other.

That story's been running through Morgan's mind ever since, and the more he thinks about it now, the more he realizes where that strange feeling might be coming from.

_"_ _A young man I greatly respect and admire."_

Words spoken by Gideon about Morgan years ago, uttered during a bombing case in Seattle. That case had rode Morgan's last nerve for many reasons, and nearly cost him his life in the process, when he'd stayed by a woman's side as people tried to remove a bomb from her car.

But then Reid told Morgan what Gideon had said about him. When he heard that notable bit of information, all that stress and frustration dissipated.

Forget badges. Forget media praise, or offered promotions, or plaques. That sentence was the best praise Morgan had ever received on the job. It still is, as far as he's concerned. With those eight words alone, Morgan had literally felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. He'd spent so long feeling a need to prove himself. Gideon had stated in no uncertain terms that he'd already done that.

Oh, sure, he'd also chastised Morgan for sticking around a site that contained an active bomb…but while noting how stupid Morgan's actions were (and to be fair, in the comedown, Morgan couldn't exactly argue with that fact), he also assured Morgan he wasn't _wrong_.

 _Of course he wouldn't have thought that._ _He'd been there himself._ _Taking a stupid risk to save others._

Morgan cringes as he thinks about his reaction to Gideon's return to the BAU. How could he ever have doubted the man's ability? What made him think he was even in a position to question someone like Gideon back then? He should know how desperate people are to return to their normal lives after a traumatic event. He's been there himself, after all, both throughout his career with the BAU as well as a couple notable times when he was a kid.

Gideon proved himself just fine. Morgan never would forget the satisfied look on Gideon's face after he finally beat Bale at his own game, or the way his seemingly crazy taunting of Vincent Shyer wound up saving those twins. And though things didn't end with Breitkopf the way Gideon hoped, Morgan took many notes while observing his interactions with Frank, notes he still uses when confronting unsubs to this day.

Even after Sarah's passing, there was still a lingering strength within Gideon. Yes, he left the team, and for good that time, but instead of allowing his demons to drive him to drink, drugs, or suicide, he'd chosen a much healthier alternative. He chose to get away to find the happiness he'd been searching for, and still remained devoted as ever to the work that had been his lifeline.

 _That_ was, and still is, worthy of deep admiration and respect, as far as Morgan's concerned.

And now he'll never get to tell him that. Just like he regrets not telling his father how much he respected and admired him.

That weird feeling becomes more noticeable now as the center of his chest aches painfully. Morgan places a hand there, taking slow, steady breaths.

He remembers how Hotch told him, after his tenure as Unit Chief, how proud he was of him. And Morgan knows that Hotch is aware he's proud of him in turn.

Still, he'll tell Hotch that tomorrow in person anyway. He deserves to know.

* * *

If Reid's attention were anywhere other than the chessboard in front of him, he'd be able to hear a pin drop. Save for the nightly janitors making their way through the building, he's the only one still there.

He should go home, but he doesn't really see the point. What will he do there that he can't do here? Watch TV, perhaps. His favorite shows aren't on now, though, and he doesn't have the time to go through and catch up on what he's recorded.

Eat? He can eat here. There's snack machines, and the break room. He still has a couple sandwiches in the fridge that should be good.

Sleep? Hotch slept here after his divorce, before he got an apartment of his own, and he seemed to manage all right. His office and Rossi's have couches in them – Reid's sure they won't mind if he crashes on one of those. They're soft and comfortable; he'll be out like a light in no time.

No, Reid's just fine with staying here. He needs to continue with this game, anyway, figure out what Gideon's next move would've been.

Reid can't help the sense of déjà vu that washes over him at the moment – he may be sitting at his desk this time instead of awkwardly settling into a chair in Gideon's office, but the situations are still eerily similar. He's still hanging out at work all night trying to finish a game Gideon had started and left open-ended. The only difference is that this time, he knows where Gideon is. Or, rather, where he _isn't_.

On some level, Reid knew that Gideon wouldn't be back to play the game of chess he'd promised him back then. It wasn't like Gideon to miss appointments, dates, or meetings without a good reason. Granted, at that time, Reid didn't feel that Gideon's reason for leaving _was_ a good one – and if he's completely honest with himself, in some ways, he still doesn't.

So why did he stay in that cluttered office all night, going so far as to fall asleep in that uncomfortable chair? Did he hope to talk to Gideon? See how he was doing, feeling, help him out the way he'd helped Reid when he was struggling? Or did he just want to know that Gideon was there, and things were back to normal, and no, he wasn't having another nervous breakdown.

_"_ _I just don't understand any of it anymore."_

When Reid came home with that letter, all he could do was sit and read it over and over and over again. He had so many questions for Gideon, so many "what ifs" swirling. What if he did understand things again? What if he "found his belief in happy endings"? Did he _ever_ plan to come back? Was this temporary, the way the last breakdown was?

Not a single answer, though. Reid's never been big on not having concrete, logical answers or explanations to things.

Gideon's explanation for leaving weighed on Reid's mind a lot over the years. He'd warned Reid once about things attaching to people that they could never wash off, and Reid had plenty of examples of those things, many dark moments from his job that never went away.

During those dark moments, he'd occasionally debated whether he wanted to stay in the BAU. It was no secret he constantly got offers for other jobs…but they'd only wanted him for his unusual skills, not because they valued him as a team member. And if his past with Hankel was discovered, they would've kicked him out anyway.

The BAU, meanwhile, accepted him as he is, and valued him as a person. They kept his secrets. And they've been his closest family. When he's struggled, be it with Gideon's departure or his drug problem or Maeve, they've always been there. They're his best friends, and they're ultimately the reason he's stayed.

Reid wonders if he'd still stay, though, if he had someone to go home to and talk about this – a girlfriend, a wife. Or if his mom weren't so far away and could provide the comfort he longs for. He likes to think he still would, because he does like his job…but then he has cases like this, with Gideon's killer, and he's unsure again. He thinks about Gideon's search for the belief in happy endings, and wonders if he shouldn't make that same trek himself. Aside from his teammates, there's not much holding him here. All he has of anyone else are letters.

Letters from his mom, whom he has to travel to see.

 _A_ letter from his dad, whom he hasn't seen in years and doesn't want to see, and the infamous one from Gideon, whom he'd hoped to see again, but now never will.

Of course there's also Maeve's letters…and the night he saw her is ironically the night he always wants to erase altogether from his mind (and on that note, he'll be forever thankful to the coroner, and his teammates, for keeping that white sheet over Gideon's body. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle that image, either).

And his teammates aren't a guaranteed reassurance right now anyway. Some of them are former ones, and too far away. The ones that _are_ here are either struggling with whole new personal demons of their own, or will just try and make him talk everything out, and he's not even sure if he wants to do that right now. He's not really sure _what_ he wants, actually.

So for the time being, he'll sit here and try and play some chess. He needs to finish this particular game, for Gideon's sake. He can't give up.

He just can't.


End file.
